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Archive for January, 2009

Uuunnngggh.

leonard_part_six_ver2How to describe Leonard Part 6? It’s a comedy depicting Bill Cosby as a retired spy who’s goaded back into the game after a vegetarian hell bent on freeing the world’s animals begins to plot to “free” the animals and begins killing people by training animals to kill.   That is the surface area to it, but it doesn’t begin to do it the severe atrocious justice it deserves.

Daniel Tosh once said that there’s no real way to describe a scary dream to your friend without making it sound completely stupid and that’s how I feel about Leonard Part 6.   Bill Cosby dresses up in some stupid outfits, followed behind by a loyal and predictable uptight butler, wherein Cosby gets to have a litany of stupid weapons (electric hair clippers!) and exotic footwear (ballet shoes!).    Frogs can band together to hop a 1970’s land yacht off a pier and into the ocean and fearsome vegetarian sect leaders can totally dress like Gloria Gaynor.

The whole point of the movie is to be ridiculous but Bill Cosby clearly didn’t learn that there’s a big line between fun-ridiculous and ARE YOU ON DRUGS, MAN?    The movie has a beginning, middle and end and some semblance of a story but the rest of the movie – you know, most of it – is just like the kind of dreams you get when you drink too much and pass out in your living room floor.

The farther I got, the more I wondered:   Who told good old Bill that this was a good idea?   What were the test screenings like?   Did anyone pause during the making of this and say, “Bill, you’re wearing ballet shoes, that woman looks like a human disco ball and this script makes no sense; what’s going on here?”

I have to say after the grind of what feels like a million awful movies, I’m running out of things to say about them.   I mean, you would think someone would take a step back and say, “Perhaps this is ill-advised” or “Maybe we should do better”.   Therefore, I’m running out of sympathy for movies like these – movies that make no sense and get worse with age.   But I’m nothing if not slightly positive and there’s a healthy way to use your copy of Leonard Part 6 effectively if you own it:

  • Batting practice;
  • Kindling;
  • Your kid’s science fair project in which Junior wants to see how long it takes a DVD to melt;
  • Skeet shooting/target practice;
  • Coaster;
  • Frisbee;
  • Stress therapy with a hammer and brute force;
  • Testing the strength of your kitchen disposal;
  • A gift to your annoying neighbor or coworker;
  • A cat toy, as long as you know, you tie some thread to it;
  • Using the disc as a prop in a demonstration on how not to handle a DVD.

So, you know, some good could come out of it, theoretically.

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#1507: Rodentz

There are no winners here.   There is only FAIL.

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Rodentz tells the charming story of  a college professor/researcher and his assistant who accidentally dose up some rats with a variety of enzymes (that’s their explanation, not mine, man) that I believe scientists officially call “some funky shit”.   When a mixture of these enzymes is poured down a hazardous waste drain that’s got a busted pipe, the rat the assistant inadvertently let escape noshes on some super stimulating science juice, leading to SUPER ENORMOUS RATS.

I hate psycho-animal movies.   They’re lame and very seldom are they entertaining.   Most of them share the same plot set up, and very few of them deviate in any sort of interesting fashion from the same old genre drudgery.   Rodentz clearly is no exception, but somehow it manages to be worse than the standard.

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The problem really isn’t what happens, it’s what doesn’t happen.   The movie itself is one long, tedious slog that’s full of made-up nonsense and boring chit-chat from characters who are barely even introduced.   When The Assistant’s friends show up to nab him for some fun, they’re instead asked to help him find the escaped rat.   While there, they notice other rats missing too.   Too bad they’re in the basement, like, totally munching on a drunk janitor and some other unfortunate souls that staggered down there stupidly.

By the way, in the above picture, can you guess who bites the dust first?

The friends kind of mosey on around, searching for rats, finding them, getting nibbled to death…

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…before shockingly enough, two make it out alive and we’re treated to this:

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I feel it’s my duty to inform you that TARANTULAS ARE COMING FOR YOU!

Anyway, to illustrate my point, this is a bitter pill of a movie to swallow.   For example, at one point one of the girls and one of the guys come up with the genius idea to go have sex.   They make out and discover they are condom-less.   Honestly, these characters are not that smart but it takes them a long ass damn time to make their way to the van – where the guy has the condom – let him dig for it, let the girl hang out randomly by some chain-link fence, cut to a guy inside watching her screaming his head off about a giant rat and so on and so forth.   Trust me when I say that three of them could have put their heads together to figure out how to spell ‘prophylactic’ in that time period and actually come up with the correct answer, that’s how long it takes.

Nevermind the actual “horrific” scenes of death, which look like the cinematographer was afflicted with Tourette’s Syndrome and epilepsy simultaneously after snorting the average amount of coke you might have found in the Studio 54 men’s room on a Friday.  You can barely tell what’s going on; there’s just some blood, some rats, a person writhing interspersed and flitted through about every second.   It’s annoying and irritating and a thoroughly awful way to cover up a non-existent special effects budget.

By the time you finish the movie with the confusing deaths, the dragging plot-lines, the refried storylines, the shitty rats, the way overdone “gotcha” moment at the end and the piss-poor execution of this “movie” in general,  one almost feels like calling up the quote from the Great Philosopher Karen Walker:

“Grab a bottle, hunker down and pray for daylight.”

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#1506: Santa’s Slay

I feel…perplexed.

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Long story short:  Santa is actually a demon who lost a bet years before and was sentenced to 1,000 years of doing good.   His thousand years of good behavior ar eover, so he comes to Hell Township to wreak havoc upon the citizens on Christmas.   Nicholas Yuleson is chased along with his friend Mary by the evil Santa Claus, culminating in …

Yawn.

I mean, Santa’s Slay is your typical low-budget holiday horror flick.   I really don’t understand spending a lot of time and money on  a film that ostensibly is built around not-so-clever uses of bad puns.   Someone really wanted an evil Santa Claus to kill people with candy canes and drown people with eggnog while uttering witty lines like, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!”    The names of the characters – Nicholas Yuleson, for example – are downright corny and painful.   Yes, makers of Santa’s Slay, I got the joke.   You like wordplay.  I might have picked that up from the title, although you’re not as cutesy as you think you are.

For the few good ideas, the rest of the movie just drags and drags and drags.   I’d rather eat a whole fruitcake than sit through another Christmas-themed killing, I swear.

It should be noted that I nearly fell asleep about three separate times during this one.   It’s indicative of the movie’s quality, I hope.

But there is something memorable about this movie — the introductory scenes where a family is slaughtered by the now fully recharged and evil Santa.   Except the members of this family are…actually famous!

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Yes, FRAN DRESCHER AND CHRIS KATTAN are in this thing.   I know Chris Kattan and Fran Drescher aren’t synonymous with box office success, but seriously, one would think that they wouldn’t have to go this low for money.

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Oh, James Caan, why?

I guess if your movie’s only memorable for the fact that James Caan gets stabbed through the hands and Fran Drescher’s hair is set alight in the first five minutes, only to have them quickly massacred with a movie following said scene that’s so yawn-worthy it might be a better sleep aid than NyQuil, you might not have much of a movie on your hands at all.

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This movie is like unintentional tragedy dressed in polyester.   It’s so stupid, so far off the mark, so wrong – that I have no clue where to start with it.

The only good thing this movie gave us is the inspiration for Michael Bolton’s scheme in Office Space.

Dear God, may all memory of this one flash from my brain.

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So…the Oscar nominees were announced today.

Is anyone excited?

I’m less than enthused.   I’m bored, actually.   Bored because movies like The Case of Benjamin Button and Doubt don’t look entertaining to me, they look like boring rehashes or tests of mental fortitude and endurance.   Some movies, however, are created as Oscar bait and thus, I accept this and I move on.

Until I see some ho ass shit like this:

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For the love of Christ, Academy, are you joking with me?   Yes, I know all about the feel good story of Slumdog Millionaire and while I wasn’t chomping at the bit to see it, I can guarantee you that after all of the incessant hype about HOW! AWESOME!  DANNY BOYLE”S MOVIE is, I’d rather spend a night curled up with Mortal Kombat II than Slumdog Millionaire.   And out of all the movies released this year on God’s good sweet freakin’ earth, you could not find another one to nominate besides two from Slumdog?

I am not pissed about The Dark Knight not being included in the Best Picture category; The Dark Knight set a new standard for comic book films but was entertaining and good, not great.   Big deal.

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Academy members did get the joke of nominating Robert Downey, Jr. for that role, right?

The fact that I am suspicious that they may have not gotten the joke is I think evidence enough of how exceedingly boring and stupid this awards show is going to be.    Am I going to watch it?  OF COURSE.    Does that mean I have to be nice?   Of course not.    Will I mock Meryl Streep?   Oh, I am so going there.

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Man, this movie is depressing.

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Depressingly bad, that is.

I really feel terrible for Al Pacino.   He’s had a fairly illustrious, remarkable cinematic career.   He’s made some knockout films; he’s made some bad ones, yes, but when you think of Al Pacino, you think of The Godfather, Dog Day Afternoon and Serpico.   Someone as storied as Al Pacino deserves two things; one, to age in his career gracefully and to have an agent who makes him refuse movies such as these.    At this point, Pacino is seven-eighths of the way to being a cheap punchline to an “old and senile” styled joke.   At this stage of the game, Al doesn’t have many more movies left in him, I don’t think, and to end it on such a painful looking, steep decline makes me awfully down.

88 Minutes is the story of Jack Gramm, an internationally renowned forensic investigator and the kind of guy who’s best known by the American public for testifying in lurid murder trials.   Nine years prior to the start of the movie, Gramm is the only solid expert in a serial murder case.   His testimony and opinions help convict a man, John Forrester, of gruesomely murdering a young girl and torturing her twin sister.   Gramm’s testimony is the linchpin in a case that otherwise rests on shaky circumstantial evidence.   Understandably, Forrester is pissed about this and leaves Gramm with some final words of warning:  “Tick tock, tick tock.”

Nine years later, murders begin happening again in the same style and fashion as the earlier slayings and Jack Gramm receives a phone call informing him that he has 88 minutes to live.   From there, he chases all over town, attempting to find out who is behind the murders, the set-up that Gramm is a copycat killer and attempting to save those around him.

Imagine if you will, two very different magicians.

Yes, I said magicians – follow me here, I promise.

(more…)

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Debatable

I rarely do fun things on my birthday, but this year I’m strongly considering packing up for the weekend (my birthday falls on a Friday, hey!) and going to this place.

Thoughts?

(Real life friends, I may or may not press you into service here and make you go with me.)

Hey, there are many things you can say about me, but you can never say I’m not random.

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